Chapter 4 - The Woman Practicing My Signature
Nora asked a question none of us had considered.
“Does Paige have access to Marian’s financial documents?”
Grant looked at me.
I thought about it.
Then remembered the estate binder.
After Russell died, Grant helped organize probate documents at my house.
Paige had spent several afternoons assisting him.
Tax statements.
Investment summaries.
Property records.
Trust information.
My signature appeared hundreds of times.
My stomach tightened.
“She had access.”
Nora nodded slowly.
Then she examined the forged spa emails again.
“This wasn’t sophisticated identity theft.”
“What does that mean?” Grant asked.
“It means she wasn’t trying to fool a bank yet.”
Yet.
That word stayed with me.
Nora believed the smaller transactions could have been tests.
Could Paige impersonate me electronically?
Would employees question approvals?
How closely did Northstar monitor old accounts?
Could expenses be attached to my name without anyone noticing?
The spa had accidentally exposed the pattern because Valerie insisted on verifying unusual membership usage.
I called her that afternoon.
She told me something else.
The invitation message from Grant’s phone had arrived shortly after Paige checked in.
Security cameras showed Paige holding Grant’s phone while he spoke to the valet outside.
She had sent the message.
Grant watched the footage twice.
The second time, he turned away.
“She wanted Mom there.”
“Yes,” Nora said.
“But why?”
I knew.
“To make me look unstable.”
Everyone turned toward me.
Paige had spent years telling Grant I was intrusive.
What better proof than having me suddenly appear at a private spa day?
If I protested after being humiliated, Paige could describe me as emotional.
Jealous.
Possessive.
Perhaps unstable.
Nora asked whether Paige had ever questioned my memory.
Grant’s face changed.
“She has.”
So had Diane.
Several times.
Little jokes.
“Marian, you already told us that.”
“You must have forgotten.”
“Are you sure you remember correctly?”
I had laughed along.
Now I understood.
A woman preparing to misuse another person’s identity benefits greatly if everyone around that person begins doubting her memory.
But there was still the million-dollar question.
Literally.
How could Paige access enough of my assets to purchase a $1.18 million house?
The answer arrived inside my own filing cabinet.
A document was missing.
My durable financial power-of-attorney template.
Unsigned, but containing account details and legal language.
Then Grant found something in his house.
A practice sheet.
It was tucked beneath papers in Paige’s home office.
My name had been written repeatedly.
Marian E. Whitlock.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Twenty-seven times.
Grant brought it to me in a plastic folder.
He couldn’t speak.
I stared at my own name written by another woman.
The twenty-eighth signature looked almost perfect.
That evening, Paige disappeared.
She took clothes, her passport, and two suitcases.
Grant found her wedding ring on their bathroom counter.
Then Diane called me.
“Marian, I need to see you.”
“Why?”
“Because Paige lied to me too.”
We met at a coffee shop.
Diane looked ten years older than she had at the spa.
She admitted Paige told her I had willingly offered to pay for all the treatments.
She had believed her.
“Why didn’t you say anything when she slapped me?”
Diane lowered her eyes.
“I was ashamed.”
“That didn’t stop her.”
“No.”
“And it didn’t help me.”
“No.”
She cried.
I let her.
Forgiveness does not require pretending cowardice didn’t hurt somebody.
Then Diane gave me a flash drive.
“Paige left this at my house.”
“What’s on it?”
“I don’t know.”
Nora did.
Copies of my investment statements.
Scans of my driver’s license.
A copy of Russell’s death certificate.
Samples of my signature.
And a draft letter addressed to my financial adviser.
The letter requested liquidation of investments totaling:
$1,260,000.
At the bottom was my forged signature.
Grant sat beside me as Nora read it.
His face collapsed.
“She was going to steal from Mom.”
Nora shook her head.
“No.”
We looked at her.
“She was going to make it look like Marian voluntarily gave the money away.”
Then she opened another folder on the drive.
Inside was a document titled:
FAMILY CAPACITY CONCERNS.
It contained notes describing imaginary incidents in which I had supposedly become confused, forgotten appointments, misplaced money, and behaved unpredictably.
Paige wasn’t merely preparing to forge my authorization.
She was preparing an explanation for why I might later deny giving it.
May you like
And one of the fabricated incidents was dated three weeks in the future.
---
